


Slow and Methodical

by sadieb798



Series: The Start of Something [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cuddling, Dinner, F/M, Fluffy Times, John is Suspicious, Kisses, Sexual Frustration, Sexy Times, Sherlock and Mary are conspirators, Snogging, Sweet Sherlock, but not TOO heavy on sexy times, overall just straight up fluff, relationships really aren't Sherlock's area
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 18:26:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadieb798/pseuds/sadieb798
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That was the best way for Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slow and Methodical

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all so so so much for the kudos and comments! They did me more help than you can ever imagine! Please leave more, I enjoy hearing your thoughts more than anything :)  
> Apologies for the long wait, but school started up for me again and has left me a little short of fic-writing time. It would have been a slow update anyway, as this chapter deserved to be methodically explored and evaluated; written out slowly with all the time in the world devoted to it.  
> I hope you all enjoy the new part to our story! :D

Mary and Sherlock spent the rest of the day sitting across from each other in the flat, tossing ideas back and forth as they drank tea. The plans varied from the wedding to their new relationship status, and Mary even managed to get Sherlock to begin to consider some ideas for how the two of them could become intimate with each other.

Mary was smiling the entire time, and felt butterflies flutter in her stomach each time Sherlock smiled excitedly back at her.

They held hands almost the entire meeting.

It wasn’t until Mary looked over Sherlock’s shoulder and noticed that it was pitch black outside that she realized she should probably go. She stood up to retrieve her scarf from the couch and was still smiling at Sherlock when she was overcome with a sharp jolt of realization that made her blood run cold.

Her wedding dress.

She’d left it back in the cab.

Luckily she was in the company of Sherlock Holmes, a master at tracing missing items and people. It took him barely a minute to recall which cab company their car had come from. Much to Mary’s amazement, when she’d thanked him for remembering and was about to go out to find the cab, Sherlock pulled on his coat.

“I told them to have it outside this little place five minutes walk from here in an hour,” He said, tying his scarf round his neck.

Mary quirked an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Sherlock hummed in confirmation. “After all,” he said, flashing her a warm smile, “we haven’t had dinner yet.”

Mary smiled in return.

Sherlock led the way downstairs and it was a welcomed relief to the many different and unpleasant scenarios she’d imagined hours ago. It wasn’t until they were walking side-by-side toward twenty-two Northumberland Street that Sherlock reached out unexpectedly and took Mary’s hand in his.

Mary blinked down in surprise at their joined hands. She hadn’t even hesitated when she’d felt his fingers reach out and clasp around her hand; she’d even adjusted her fingers to better fit in his grasp. She looked back up at him to find him looking down at her.

“This is what couples do, isn’t it?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed in uncertainty. “Hold hands?”

Mary’s heart melted. She sighed in absolute bliss and smiled reassuringly at him. “Yes, Sherlock. This is what couples do.”

He preened proudly and they continued their walk in a serene silence.

They ate pasta and drank white wine, making poor Angelo confused by Sherlock’s sudden shift in dinner companions. Mary would steal shrimp from Sherlock’s plate and Sherlock, in retaliation, stole big bites of Mary’s tiramisu once dessert came. They talked about one thing and one thing only, and it was the single most important conversation Mary thought she would ever have with Sherlock Holmes.

They talked about John Watson.

Sherlock told Mary some extraordinary things that John had done throughout the adventures they’d had before she and John had met, and some things he’d deduced about his life from every little detail he could find; and Mary for her part filled Sherlock in on what he’d missed during his two years away from the army doctor. Though upon seeing Sherlock’s sad look when she talked about the years he’d been gone, Mary resolutely decided never to mention those times again. They would often reach out across the small table and touch each other’s hands comfortingly.

Angelo put a flower on their table.

The cab arrived on the dot, waiting outside the restaurant once Sherlock and Mary had finished eating. Sherlock and Mary held hands as he escorted her to the cab. Mary was pleased to see that hanging up inside the cab was the large blue bag that contained her wedding dress.

“Well,” Sherlock said, once Mary turned to face him, her back to the cab. “This wasn’t a terrible day. Not as boring as I thought it would be.”

Mary smiled. That was probably the closest to a compliment she’d get. “I had a good time too,” she said. “And thank you, Sherlock, for everything.”

He smiled. “My pleasure.”

They stood there for a minute, just staring at each other, waiting to see if the other would say something to break the silence.

Sherlock finally looked down at his feet. “Er,” he began, furrowing his eyebrows in thought, looking back up at her. “It _is_ customary to end the first date with a kiss, isn’t it?”

Mary raised a surprised eyebrow. “Sherlock Holmes. Was this a date?”

He crinkled his nose in disapproval. “Well we _did_ just break up a sex-trafficking ring and have dinner,” Sherlock stated in a tone that told Mary that those were obvious signs to implicate a dinner date and she should have gotten that. “Wouldn’t you consider that a date?”

“I bet it wasn’t as good as your and John’s first date,” she said with a teasing smirk.

Sherlock smiled in return. “Save my life next time and it _might_ just come in close second,” he replied easily.

Mary lowered her gaze and smiled at the pavement, feeling a flush of pleasure colour her cheeks. She peered up at him from beneath her eyelashes. “Not necessarily,” she said in response to his first question. “Not unless you want to.”

“I think I might enjoy it,” Sherlock replied honestly.

Butterflies escaped in Mary’s stomach. She smiled very warmly at the detective and was happy to see him share the same smile. She took a step closer towards him, his eyes tracking her movements. She stood on her tip-toes and brushed a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Nah,” Mary said when she’d pulled away. Sherlock tilted his head questioningly at her. “This is special,” she took his hand in hers and smiled up at him. “Let’s not rush it.”

Sherlock nodded before giving her a small smile.

Mary turned around and opened the door to the cab. “Are you free tomorrow?” Sherlock asked, once she’d sat down inside.

Mary frowned. “Probably. Why?”

“Come to Baker Street at your convenience,” he replied, “I want to begin a few experiments and run some theories by you.”

Mary raised an eyebrow. “And if it isn’t convenient?”

“Come by anyway,” Sherlock replied, shutting the cab door behind her.

Mary laughed as the cab drove away.

Mary settled back into her seat and sighed with relief. A thought suddenly struck her, and she turned to peer through the rearview window to see Sherlock still standing on the pavement. “Oh turn around,” she told the cabbie, “I forgot something.”

The cab rounded back and just managed to catch Sherlock as he started to leave.

“Sherlock!” Mary said, running out to him with her wedding dress in her arms. He turned around, his hair and coat rustling with the sudden movement, surprised to see her. As she approached, he gave her a questioning look.

“Here,” she said breathlessly, thrusting the dress at him.

He frowned in confusion at the dress in his hand. “What am _I_ to do with it?” he asked dubiously.

“You’re meant to _hide_ it,” she explained. “If I took it home, John would only be set on trying to get a peek at it.” She turned to go back to the waiting cab.

“Where am I supposed to hide it?” he called after her.

“Put it some place John would have no business going in to,” she called back before she got into her cab.

Throughout the entire cab ride home, Mary smiled to herself. Everything had gone beautifully; she’d never imagined a better turn-around of an evening. The butterflies in her stomach still fluttered, but had settled into a mellow sort of flight pattern, and she felt a warmth of contentment spread through her veins like butter on warm toast that only made her smile bigger.

She couldn’t think about what might happen the next day, otherwise she’d start thrumming with an uncontrollable excitement as well as anticipation for what would be in store. It felt as though after all her hard work, at long last all her dreams would come true--for surely now that she had Sherlock on her side, and to aid her in her cause, their combined efforts would be enough to bring John Watson down.

Preferably to his knees.

 

* * *

 

They really had no plan of attack.

That was more than a little worrying to Mary.

The day after they’d gone dress shopping, Mary returned to Baker Street to find that Sherlock had decorated the smiley-face wall of the flat with plans and diagrams and graphs of how they might go about bringing John into their relationship and the various outcomes that might occur.

“Did you even sleep?” Mary asked in greeting as she shrugged off her coat.

“I managed a few hours,” Sherlock said distractedly as he typed away at his laptop, wrapped up in a brown robe. Mary didn’t have to look at him to know that he was fibbing.

Mary peered at the plans above the settee. “Thorough aren’t you?” she mused.

“Every action has an equal and opposite reaction,” Sherlock replied.

They were silent a moment. “Oh, by the way,” Mary said, turning to peer at him from over her shoulder. “Out of curiosity, what’d you do with my dress?”

“In my bedroom,” he responded, not bothering to look up from his laptop’s screen at her.

Mary frowned. “Why would you--”

“Your specific instructions were to hide it ‘some place John would have no business going in to’,” he recited back at her. “So I did just that. John has no business going into my bedroom, so naturally that’s the safest place in the flat to hide it.”

Mary had to admit he was right. She turned back to the graphs. “No business being in there _yet_ anyway,” she replied, scrutinizing the pie-chart diagrams.

“Now,” Sherlock said, drawing up from the table and closing his laptop with a snap, recapturing Mary’s attention. He looked her dead in the eye, a look of determination set in his features as he smiled. “Let’s have sex.”

Mary gaped at him.

There was no other word for it.

She was certainly glad she didn’t have any tea at the moment, otherwise she was sure she would have spat it out in her shock.

She blinked a few times. 

“Excuse me?” she asked, thinking there was no way; she couldn’t _possibly_ have heard right--

“Sex. You know, that thing that happens when two--or more--people who love each other do,” Sherlock said, spelling it out for her.

Oh.

So she _had_ heard right.

Mary frowned at him.

“No.” She turned back to the graphs. “Now explain to me some of these theories of yours--”

“Mary,” Sherlock said seriously, drawing Mary’s eyes to him again. “It’s important that this work. Between you and I, I mean.”

Mary frowned in concern, giving him her full attention. “Do you think it might not? Because if not, as I already said, I understand--”

“No,” Sherlock said, shaking his head, his curls rustling. He stepped around the table and made his way toward her. Without thinking, they reached out for each other’s hands. “Not just for you and I. But for John too. It’s important he see how much we both mean to each other.”

Mary blinked. “Sherlock,” she began, “John has eyes, he can _see_ \--”

“Yes but he doesn’t _observe_!” Sherlock huffed in frustration, like a man who had been dealing with the same problem for years and could not resolve it. He turned away and frowned at the curtains, as though they had personally offended him.

“Then we’ll just have to _make_ him,” Mary said frankly, reaching her hand up to touch his cheek. The sudden touch startled him, but rather than pull away, his eyes slanted back to meet hers. He leaned slightly into her touch. She smiled softly at him.

“We’re taking this slow, Sherlock, because I want _you_ to be comfortable,” Mary said, lacing her fingers through his. “And if you decide that sex has to be taken completely off the table, that’s fine. And, hopefully, John will see what we’ve been doing, and just follow our lead rather than put up a fuss.”

Sherlock was silent for quite a while. “I thought we’d do experiments with touching and progress from there to start,” he said finally, changing the subject.

Mary smiled, and gave his hand a squeeze, and rubbed her thumb gently against his cheek. “That’s fine then,” she said, drawing her hand away from his face. “I’ll do what I can.” She gave him a reassuring smile.

He quirked his lips in response. Then he gave her hand a squeeze in return, before dropping it and launching into the two hundred and thirty-three different ways in which they could seduce John Watson.

 

* * *

 

It was true, Mary learned over time after traveling to Baker Street for visits, that Sherlock knew next to nothing about relationships and was proven to be out of his depth more than once while he and Mary went over plans. But since the matter concerned John Watson, a subject Sherlock was more than a little familiar with, Mary had faith in Sherlock and his abilities at trying to suss out the perfect plan.

 

* * *

 

“We could try drugging him,” Sherlock said one day as he was sitting in his chair and pondering.

“No,” Mary said from her spot at the sofa, where she sat glancing through a magazine of bridesmaids dresses.

 

“It wouldn’t be a difficult feat,” Sherlock said, two days later as they sat at the kitchen table, going over flowers. “I once drugged John’s tea. He missed an entire Wednesday and wasn’t even aware of the fact--”

“Absolute not,” Mary said, reaching across the table for Sherlock’s mug of tea and drinking it. She wasn’t taking any chances.

 

Mary was curled up with John on their sofa watching a Bond movie one evening when her mobile rang.

“Hello?” she asked into the device.

“Perhaps I _had_ been pushing for the plan of drugging John a bit too enthusiastically,” Sherlock greeted her on the other end.

“A bit, yeah,” Mary said in agreement. John gave her a questioning look, and she mouthed _Sherlock_ in answer before turning her attention back to the detective.

“But I’ve been going over the probabilities again, and I think we’d have much more success if we got John _drunk_ before we proceed--”

“Good _bye_ Sherlock,” she said pointedly.

Silence.

“Not good?” he asked.

“No, not really,” she replied before hanging up.

 

* * *

 

Perhaps he _wasn’t_ as great on the subject of John Watson as she’d thought.

 

* * *

 

“He calls and texts you a lot,” John said as they did the dishes.

Mary tensed briefly before resuming the job of scrubbing the dishes clean. “Who?” She asked, feigning ignorance.

“Sherlock,” he replied.

“Oh.”

She handed him the wet dish for him to dry. “Well, he’s very keen on the wedding is all,” she said with a nonchalant shrug.

“A bit _too_ keen don’t you think?” He asked.

“Well you know how he is,” Mary replied, turning her attention to the next dish in the sink.

“Yeah...” John said growing silent.

That can’t be a good sign.

 

“He suspects something,” She told Sherlock.

Sherlock blinked questioningly. “Who?” he asked.

“John,” she answered. Sherlock looked down at her, his fingers stopping their rhythmic stroking of the hand she’d placed on his chest. Mary found Sherlock did this whenever he was lost in deep thought.

“It’s not a problem,” she said, “but I really hope it won’t turn into one. I don’t want John to get jealous over nothing.”

“Hm,” Sherlock agreed musingly, casting his eyes away. His thumb began stroking her hand again. Mary curled in closer to Sherlock, snuggling against him on the sofa.

 

* * *

 

“We could try a direct approach,” Sherlock mused one night as Mary sat in his lap nuzzling his neck while they sat at his chair. He’d been staring at John’s chair across from him, lost in contemplation.

“Mm?” Mary mused, too busy mapping out the detective’s long and expansive neck to register what he’d said.

“With John, obviously,” Sherlock continued as Mary nipped at his earlobe.

“Is this having any affect on you at all?” she asked, drawing back with a thoughtful frown.

“Not really,” Sherlock replied, shifting under her weight. “Can’t focus on anything apart from the case.”

“This is a bit _relevant_ to the case,” pointed out Mary, but made a move to get off his lap nonetheless. His hand shot out suddenly and gripped her wrist loosely, but still enough to warrant Mary’s attention. 

Mary looked down at the hand clasping her wrist in confusion, then up to his face and found Sherlock meeting her eyes with some hesitation.

“I enjoyed the night we...cuddled.” Sherlock admitted slowly, with a faint blush on his otherwise ivory complexion. “If that helps...”

“Just remember, Sherlock,” Mary said with a reassuring smile, as he released her wrist. “If cuddling and hand-holding and the occasional touch is all I’m going to get with you physically, it’s fine.”

He nodded in understanding and stood. “Shall we relocate then?”

 

“We’ll have to move quickly,” Sherlock said after a while.

“Mm?” Mary asked sleepily. She lifted her head, and found that she’d fallen asleep on top of Sherlock and that they were both sprawled out on the sofa. Her head had been in the crook of his neck and his arms were wrapped around her waist and back while her hand was placed on his chest. Their legs were tangled together.

“With John,” he clarified, she could feel his chest reverberate with each word he rumbled, his voice like thunder beneath her ear. “It’s frustrating we haven’t gotten anywhere with him and your wedding is fast approaching...” he trailed off.

Mary turned her head to stare up at his face. His eyebrows were furrowed, and he had a frown of displeasure on his face; his green eyes looked bright and burning with a task that needed to be completed but looked as though he was staring at something far away.

“Hey,” she said, poking his chest until his attention returned to her. “It’s all right--we’ll figure it out.” She lifted up her head and kissed his mouth.

It didn’t occur to her until after she pulled away that that was the first time they’d ever kissed.

She blinked at herself in surprise. She turned to look at Sherlock and found he shared her look of bemusement at the sudden realization.

“How was that?” she asked, slightly nervous.

“Not bad,” he replied truthfully. 

He frowned in thought for a moment, making Mary fidget in uncertainty.

“Actually,” he said after a pause, “if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to have another.”

She smiled widely.

Then she swooped down and complied to his request by meeting his lips.

 

* * *

 

It turned out that Sherlock Holmes was really bloody brilliant at snogging. Mary grinned each time he lowered his lips down to meet hers and her toes curled in anticipation. She was proud of how far they’d come along.

 

* * *

 

They’d moved past the awkward fumbling found during that period of experimentation in the years of adolescence and progressed to an almost passable level of foreplay.

 

* * *

 

Once they’d snogged against almost every surface of the flat, and after some rather intense heavy petting that left them both breathless, Sherlock without an erection but her wanting more, Mary decided it was time for another experiment. That was how Mary and Sherlock found themselves, spooning on Sherlock’s bed, with his warm breath on the back of her neck and his fingers lightly tracing the vertebrae of her spine. Mary sighed contentedly. _Slow and methodical,_ she thought. _That was the best way for Sherlock._

 

* * *

 

“It’s obvious why we’re stalling,” Mary said one day a month or so later.

“Oh?” Sherlock asked, momentarily distracted in his quest of mapping out Mary’s stomach with his lips.

“Yes,” she said, pulling Sherlock back up to her chest, momentarily stopping him. His hand brushing against the inside of her shirt in passing. “It’s because of what we’re doing.”

Sherlock paused, then stared at her questioningly with a raised eyebrow. “You feel our continued intimacy is hindering our quest to seduce John?” he asked.

Mary rolled her eyes. “Don’t put words in my mouth,” she said, giving his nose a playful pinch between her fingers, making him squint and crinkle his nose. “I mean, I began touching you and getting you used to the idea of _us_ being intimate--” she gestured between the two of them with her hand “--but we haven’t been getting _John_ used to the idea as well.”

Sherlock was silent as he let this mull over in his head. “So you think that if I started touching John--”

“With me present,” Mary cut in.

“--he’ll be open to the idea of the change in our relationship?” Sherlock asked.

Mary shrugged. “It worked with you.”

Sherlock was silent in thought.

“True,” he said finally, resting his head on her chest. Mary relaxed against the pillows of his bed. Her hands reached up automatically and found their way into Sherlock’s hair and she began to play with his wild curls, twisting each ringlet in her fingers thoughtfully.

Sherlock gave a soft sigh, releasing a warm breath that brushed Mary's skin and closed his eyes. She smiled fondly.

“John is a man of action,” Sherlock murmured thoughtfully after a while. Mary continued to play with his hair. “He’s not good with...” he paused, trying to find the right word.

“Expressing his emotions?” she volunteered, eyeing him.

Sherlock hummed in response.

“A trait you and he seem to share,” Mary said, looking up at the ceiling of his room.

“Yet we can’t approach him straight-forward,” continued Sherlock as though she hadn’t spoken. “Should he get spooked, the image he has of himself as a straight man will be shattered.”

“Consciously straight, subconsciously bisexual,” Mary supplied.

“Labels,” Sherlock scoffed. “What does it matter if you like men or women? Why do they have to be categorised? It’s far too confusing.”

“A question for the greats,” Mary replied sarcastically, continuing to thread her fingers through the waves of his hair.

“ _I’m_ great,” Sherlock said. Mary smacked his head playfully.

“I meant the _other_ greats,” she said smiling.

Sherlock smirked as he turned his face back to underneath her jaw and began brushing feather-light kisses down her throat that made Mary’s toes curl and a sigh escape blissfully from her lips.

She began to lose her train of thought when his fingers splayed against the side of her abdomen, touching her as though she belonged to him.

Now _that’s_ more like it were Mary’s last thoughts before Sherlock engulfed her into a kiss, completely dissolving her.

 

* * *

 

In the end, it happened slowly and quickly all at once.

 

It was an unusually hot day for the beginning of May, and Mary had found herself wearing a tank top and a skirt when she entered 221B. Sherlock was sprawled out on the sofa in his usual contemplative pose when she came in, looking quite cool in his suit as his hands were steepled together, with the familiar graphs and charts of Project John on the wall beside him.

Mary had not even said a word when Sherlock opened his eyes and stared at her as if struck by lightning.

 _“Oh.”_ He breathed in what seemed to Mary to be sudden realization.

“What?” She asked, turning to look at him in confusion.

His eyes moved quickly over her body, as though he just noticed her for the first time, slowly lowering his hands. His eyes met hers without a trace of humor in them.

“Mary,” he said very seriously, and speaking as though his throat had gone parched with thirst. “I just imagined you naked.”

Mary’s eyes widened. “And?” She asked excitedly, not fighting the smile that began splitting across her face. She did, however, fight the very strong urge to start jumping up and down on her toes.

He continued to look at her, frowning thoughtfully. She continued to smile at him, thrumming with excitement.

Sherlock’s eyes quickly met hers, a fierce blush crawling across his cheeks. “I--” he began before he looked down at his crotch in distraction. Mary looked down to see what he was staring at.

His head snapped back up, and his eyes were wide. “Mary,” he said smiling very proudly, growing excited. _“I’ve got an erection.”_

Mary beamed brilliantly, and allowed herself one hop that turned into several excited hops. She squealed eagerly.

Sherlock shot up off the sofa and flew across the room at her like a rocket off the launchpad. It was with perhaps the same amount of speed Mary had seen him display when John had been in danger; perhaps he was like this whenever he was on a case.

“Quick, take off your shirt,” he commanded urgently, his dexterous fingers already pulling at the hem of her shirt.

Mary didn’t need to be told twice.

She hiked the fabric over her head, mussing her hair before dropping it on the floor of the flat. His lips crashed into hers, bruising her mouth in desperate kisses, his hands sliding up the sides of her waist and back before gripping her shoulder-blades.

 _Finally,_ Mary thought breathlessly as Sherlock began an investigation of her tongue.

He burned feverish kisses onto her skin, as his lips lowered to her collarbone and then began to be pressed to the tops of her breasts the bra she wore allowed to be exposed. _Finally!_ She thought, her head feeling warm and dizzy with a fever that she was not going to extinguish any time soon.

“More,” he said, his voice turning gruff, as he bit at her neck, causing her arousal to spike off the charts.

She took his face into her hands and began fervently kissing him, his large hands reaching up to clasp her face. It was as though he couldn’t get close enough to her; Sherlock was invading her space and she gladly gave him permission to do so as he pressed up against her. It surprised her a while back when they discovered snogging to learn that Sherlock absolutely _adored_ kisses--but she was even _more_ surprised now to learn that he responded enthusiastically to this round of heavy kissing as he began rutting up against her legs, seeking contact and nearly toppling her over onto the ground.

As much as Mary was looking forward to having Sherlock ride her, perhaps it was best if they continued this someplace more comfortable.

After all, _the floor would still be there next time._

“Bedroom,” she huffed in response. It was really becoming a challenge to breathe or even form words when his tongue was doing deliciously pleasant things to her libido. 

Sherlock nodded repeatedly, but the words were slow and uncomprehending to his lizard brain as arousal was no doubt clouding his senses. He swiped his tongue against her skin and dragged it upwards along her neck, causing her to shiver uncontrollably.

“ _Now_ ,” she commanded fiercely. He jumped at attention and pulled back before she took his hand in hers, and dragged him off to the direction of the bedroom, making sure to stop in order to grab the box of condoms she’d hidden in the skull long ago.

It was one of the many hiding places around the flat she stashed condoms in.

Once they’d had the bedroom door locked behind them, and she’d tossed the box of condoms on the bed, Mary was met with a look of burning intensity from Sherlock. His eyes were tracing over her form, committing it to memory, and he seemed to be holding his breath, as though noticing for the first time that her shirt was off.

He looked away, momentarily confusing Mary.

He seemed hesitant, much to her chagrin. She was breathing heavily with arousal, very much turned on, and after weeks of sessions of heavy snogging and cuddling with Sherlock, all her repressed sexual urges were bubbling up on the surface, and she was _not_ ready to have her mood killed by doubts and second-guessing.

She reached for her skirt and pulled it down her legs until it was a mess around her ankles. She kicked it aside for good measure, to show she was serious.

When Sherlock continued to stand there, staring at the ground and making no move to join her, Mary sighed helplessly. It seemed that was all she was going to get.

“It’s fine,” she said, doing her best to lower her heart rate and not show her immense disappointment. She sat down heavily on the edge of his bed, her head in her hands as she tried to cool down. Sherlock said nothing.

“It’s fine,” she repeated, drawing slow breaths. “At least we know I can give you an erection, so that’s something--”

“Mary,” he cut in, silencing her. She stared up at him and his eyes met hers.

A transformation had come over the man.

His eyes were dilated, leaving only slivers of his verdigris irises visible. He looked absolutely carnal; like a lion at an all-you-can-eat-antelope buffet.

Mary blinked at him in absolute astonishment.

“Lie back,” he commanded, as he came over to her in two strides. Mary thumped back against the mattress, her hair cushioning her head. Sherlock crawled on top of her, looking like a large cat stalking its prey. He stared at her body in silence, making her go breathless; his scrutiny stoking the coals of heat that burned low in her stomach.

“Need more data,” he explained, before his eyes began traveling over her, like the X-ray machine at the clinic, and his fingertips burning little trails along her skin.

He then explored the terranes of her body, making her skin prickle in anticipated excitement as he began deducing her life from each blemish and scar etched onto her. He mapped her out like he would a crime scene: slow, methodical and with care as he left no surface untraced.

“Right,” he said finally, his voice going down a couple of notches. He breathed slowly out, she studied him in silence. It was a few minutes before he fixed her with a look of determination. “Let’s start again,” he rumbled, his voice pure sex.

“Slow,” she cut in, tracing the sharp planes of his jaw with her fingertips. “If you need to. We’ll go slow.”

He shook his head, his eyes entirely focussed on her and scorching hot. “Wrong,” he said ducking down as he began pressing wet kisses randomly and on different places of her body. Every third kiss was accompanied by either a suckle, or a sharp bite that produced a gasp out of Mary. He met her eyes again before he slowly lowered his head back down to her lips for a kiss.

“We’ll be _methodical_.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well I'm sure you can figure out what happens next ;)
> 
> As I've said before: all the parts to this series have been left open so that if anyone wants to can take up the reins and go wherever their imagination takes them.


End file.
